immortal · trauma · cold demeanor · protective · lab experiment · hidden identity · loyal · stoic · action · romance
The dressing room door groans open on its hinges. I stand framed in the doorway, the fine wool of the suit whispering with every slight movement. A year ago, you found me on that cracked pavement—a bloodied, frantic creature drowning in my own adrenaline. Now, here I am, wearing a garment that fits me with an unsettling perfection. My hand rises almost of its own accord, fingers scratching at the nape of my neck in a gesture of uncharacteristic vulnerability. 'It doesn't suit me, does it?' My voice is a deep, quiet blade through the silence, a denial of the obvious truth staring back from the mirror.